


heavy in your arms

by uwu



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:37:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uwu/pseuds/uwu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't realize how much more losing Steve could scare him, until he had him in every way he wanted. Now he knows that Steve has taken up every spare inch of his life, filled every dusty corner of his mind; how empty it would be if he wasn't around anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heavy in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest fic either of us has written so far, and considering all the things that happened during the past few months I think we can both be proud of ourselves for actually finishing, even if it took us a long time. [Here](http://i.imgur.com/MQrgSNl.jpg)'s some wonderful art (NSFW-ish) by the amazing [Sam](http://superhumandisasters.tumblr.com)!
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy reading :)

It’s on days like this Bucky contemplates starting fights, rather than just finishing them. Days where people actually notice Steve, and Bucky realizes he doesn’t like to share (with anyone that isn’t Steve). When he catches people staring at Steve’s collarbones, his blue blue eyes, and pinker lips. Something dark and primal riles up in him, itching for a fight, to prove ― to show that Steve’s his (even though he isn’t, not in the way Bucky wants him to be), and no one else can have him.

He doesn’t do anything, though. Doesn’t fight, or put a move on Steve or does anything but grit his teeth and bear it. Because at least, no one’s said or done anything to him.

And then someone makes a pass at Steve.

* * *

He’s older, looks rich enough, exactly the kinda guy who would prey on Steve; mistaking his petite frame and delicate features for weakness, not seeing the strength and determination underneath. Finding him in their slum neighbourhood is suspicious enough, but the keen interest he takes in Steve makes Bucky twitchy. Wants to punch him in his dumb mug, pick his pockets out of spite (even though Steve would give him that look), just generally rough him up; get him to never come back and ever look at Steve again.

So, no, Bucky isn’t exactly at his best when the prick comes up to them after a long day at work, too many hours too little pay, and all he has to look forward to is going home to (with) Steve. He’d like to think under any other circumstances he’d be better about this, take his lumps, sometimes you gotta deal with shit that you don’t want to deal with, especially at the hands of rich people. He knows that well, but he’s tired, and it's Steve.

Bucky doesn’t really register what he’s done until he feels his entire hand more than covers Steve’s tiny waist, and sees the (smug, son of a-) man’s face. Too angry to think of anything to say, he just steers them away, walking faster than normal, because all he can think about is getting home, keeping Steve all to himself.

They're out of breath when they come home ― especially Steve, and a pang of guilt strikes through Bucky because he didn't think, made Steve run after him, let his anger get the better of him. Panting hard, he reaches out to touch Steve, only to find him turned away. He feels as though he’s as much of an asshole as the man he dragged Steve away from, selfish more than anything.

"Listen, Steve ―" he starts, except he's interrupted by a coughing fit from the other side of the room. Fear shoots through him, feeling like his guts went cold and hard and he runs over, somehow manages to guide Steve towards the bed, puts his arms around him. Holds him through an asthma attack, one that he caused, only leaves to bring him some water and his inhaler. Bucky worked hard for that one.

He just pretends to know what to do (he never really does) when he sits back down next to Steve and rubs along his back trying to soothe it better, or to calm him down at least a little bit. Waits out the storm, wanting to see his stubborn Steve, pushing away pretending he’s ok when he’s not; wants to see that determined look on his face again. Wants to look away from how hard Steve’s coughing.

Instead he wraps himself around him, like he can shield Steve from the world, from every bad thing out there.

Bucky spends days (most people would probably say too much, way too much time ― but nobody knows what goes on in his mind, he has to remind himself frequently; his thoughts belong deeply to himself, and only to himself) thinking about how unfair this world ― not God, because Bucky has stopped believing in Him a long time ago ― is for putting so many obstacles in the way of somebody like Steve, who deserves so much better.

He’s brought out of his (admittedly maudlin) thoughts when he feels Steve take in a deep breath without immediately coughing afterwards. He wants to run his hands over Steve, make sure he’s okay even though his ache is somewhere Bucky can’t reach, can’t soothe. All he can do is hold him through it.

He doesn’t know how long they sit like this, all he knows is he wakes up with a start, what seems like hours later, pressed impossibly close to Steve. The sun was only just rising, illuminating Steve’s face ― which, Bucky noticed, was very very close to his. Steve was very very close to him, causing one part of him in particular to perk up. He freezes, trying to move as little as possible, trying not to wake Steve up, but he’s not successful. Bucky feels when Steve wakes up, and when he notices exactly what’s digging into his back. They lie there for a moment, not moving a muscle, and Bucky panics. He tries to flail away, and ends up pressed even closer to Steve; the tiny bed they’re on not lending much of a way to move.

“Bucky?” Steve mutters, voice still croaky from sleep, and for a minute Bucky blanks out. They look at each other, Steve confused, Bucky anxious, and he tries to breathe but his lungs seem to have given out. Bucky wants to speak but all he can do is soundlessly mouth words at Steve, and because Bucky is stupid and all he wants is to make that tension disappear, he says “Well you are tiny like a dame, bound to happen.” Tacks on a smirk like it’ll help matters.

Steve looks at him, a bit dumbfounded, like he can’t believe Bucky just said that, and honestly? Bucky can’t believe it himself. Can’t believe he said something so close to what he actually wants. Always, always, he tries to suppress the thoughts, even in his own head, although he doesn’t manage to do it as well as he wants.

He loses a few minutes and next thing he knows they’re turned to face each other and he’s got his lips on Steve’s. For all that the kiss is chaste it doesn’t deter his hard on, just a dry press of lips, that’s doing more for him than anything he’s ever done with a girl. He’s thought about this more than he is ready to admit and yet it feels even better than he imagined, lips pressed as close together as their bodies are. And then Steve hitches even closer, and they grind together, and if Bucky thought kissing was good, it’s got nothing on this.

Steve’s lips are a little chapped, and Bucky is hyper-aware of everything ― the little huffs of breath Steve lets out in between pecks, his fingertips exploring the back of his head, and Bucky can’t stop himself from moaning, grabbing at Steve, dragging his hips closer to Bucky’s, pressing deeper into the kiss. Reluctantly he pulls away, only a few inches, to look at Steve, to check up on him (to check up on how much damage is being done right now, and Bucky panics again, because this could ruin everything ―) but quickly puts his mouth back on Steve’s and feels a wave of affection rush through his entire body, from the tips of his fingers to his toes, and he opens his mouth just a little ― says, “I’ve wanted this for so long,” before he can catch himself.

He kisses Steve deeply before he can say anything, slips his tongue in Steve’s mouth, and tries to put some moves on him, just like he would if Steve was a dame. He knows he should worry about going too fast, and for a moment he does, but Steve responds so wonderfully; licks into his mouth, pecks the corner of his lips, and when their tongues touch Bucky can't stop himself from grinding his crotch down against Steve's hips. Rolls them over so Bucky’s on top, completely covering Steve and then some, but he knows Steve can handle it. Can handle Bucky’s weight bearing down on him, as they grind their cocks together.

Bucky stops kissing Steve for just a second, just to catch his breath, and lets out a broken moan when they grind together in a particularly good way and Steve arches up into it, mouth open for a moan he won’t let leave his throat. Bucky latches onto his neck to stifle the sounds he wants to make, and it's just there in front of him like an open invitation ― the need to mark Steve up, to put a bruise on his throat where anyone could see overwhelms him, but he resists.

Because the fear of them being discovered washes over him, of everybody around them knowing somehow ― Bucky quickly stops that train of thought, because now is definitely not the time to worry. He has Steve writhing beneath him, something he's wanted for so long, but he’s still worrying, can’t shut his brain off. He distracts himself by kissing down Steve’s chest, teasing him with the tip of his tongue and little puffs of breath. Biting little bruises into Steve’s skin, then laving over them with his tongue to soothe the ache away. He loses himself in trying to drive Steve mad, and all he pays attention to are the little moans from above his head and Steve’s hands curled in his hair. After a little while he notices the skin is already becoming red, especially the skin surrounding his nipples; Bucky hadn’t even noticed he’d been paying extra attention to them, pale pink discs standing to attention just like a dame’s.

Suddenly feeling insecure he looks up into Steve’s eyes but he’s quickly reassured by what seems like enthusiasm on his part, his eyes sparkling. He looks so intensely turned on that Bucky just chuckles quietly and, never breaking eye contact, licks at Steve’s nipple. He bites lightly at it, too, not wanting to hurt him, but curious to see how he’d react. Steve arching up into it the bite and letting out a broken moan was more than he expected, but only encourages him to get a little rougher. He drags himself back up to Steve’s lips, grips at his thin hips and presses bruises the shape of his hands into them. Smiles down at Steve’s face, so in love and happy in this moment that his chest hurts, but in the best way possible.

His orgasm catches him by surprise, he was so focused on Steve he hadn’t been paying attention to how he moved against the bed and what it did to him, couldn’t focus on anything but Steve’s bitten-off moans and hitched breaths. Bucky chokes out Steve’s name one last time, and then he feels Steve coming against his chest, and nearly falls down on him, exhausted after coming so hard. Always mindful of Steve, he rolls over and lays next to him (still almost on top of him with how tiny the bed is, but Steve doesn’t look like he minds very much).

He smiles at the ceiling, not caring that it’s way too early to be up and he’s got a long day of work ahead of him, not caring that someone could’ve heard them, or they could get caught. Not caring about anything. After a moment he turns his head to look at Steve, worry seeping through his blissed-out haze, and sees him with his eyes closed and a content smile on his face.

Bucky spends a minute just looking at Steve and his cheekbones and those little moles scattered across his face, notices the light fuzz covering his jaw, his long eyelashes; tries to tuck away those details he never allowed himself to notice before, for the first time actually letting himself look.

He catches himself staring more and more after that.

* * *

Bucky won’t look him in the eye after that. He’s not ignoring him, per say ― whenever Steve looks at him it seems as if Bucky had been staring at him before he was caught, but quickly turns his head and pretends to do something else. Steve would be pissed off if he wasn’t scared about what it meant. It could mean anything, really, because Steve has never seen him acting this way, never seen Bucky in any way that could be called something like shyness, or nervousness, maybe even fear ― it seems so foreign that Steve can’t even find words to describe it.

When they’re in the same room, which is more often than Steve’s realized in the past, the tension between them is slowly eating at him, biting into his skin, and when he once again catches Bucky staring, he wishes nothing more but to have the courage to go over to him. He knows he’s sort of reckless, that more times than not Bucky’s the one holding him back, so it doesn’t surprise him all that much that with how things are between them something happens.

The something that happens has a name. And he’s possibly one of the stupidest things Steve’s ever done. He spent days trying to suppress the thoughts, trying to distract himself, tried all that he thought possible, but whenever he looked at Bucky it felt like arousal personally punched him in the guts. Sometimes he lost track of time when he watched Bucky read or cook, tried to not stare so noticeably at him, and yet wanted to absorb all those details into his mind; looked at his hands so he could imagine how they felt like on his body later, at his lips, the blue blue of his eyes, imagining what they would look like darkened by arousal, pupils dilated, staring at him… But nothing good comes out of dreams.

So, Steve steals some booze from where Bucky hides it in the cabinet, because every time he goes outside a wave of anxiety washes over him, and it’s scary and confusing, but he wants to try it so badly, too. So, yeah, when he goes outside after spending two hours waiting for the sun to set with a bottle of whiskey never leaving his fingers, he might be a little tipsy.

He walks around with his shoulders hunched up and his hands in the pockets of his threadbare jacket; the days are already getting shorter, but the alcohol fills him with a pleasant warmth. It might take his mind off the cold, but it’s still not enough to distract him from thinking about Bucky, or from what he’s about to do.

He almost turns around to go home three times on the way there, but something makes him go on. Maybe it’s the booze; maybe it’s the expressions Steve sometimes catches Bucky making, the ones that practically cry out regret, or shame, and something else Steve can’t quite put his finger on just yet. But it doesn’t really matter in the end, because Steve’s here, here being a bar for queers, not too far from their apartment.

Except it does matter, because when he spends a few minutes loitering around, hiding partially in the shadows, trying to build up courage to go in, he sees someone looking at him ― someone who looks dangerously similar to Bucky with his piercingly blue eyes, his hair parted that certain way and the stride with which he walks towards Steve.

His heart skips a beat, because shit, he was lost too deep in his own thoughts to tell apart what’s real and what’s not, and now there’s… someone coming up to him with his hands casually in his pockets and a smirk on his face. Steve curls his hands into fists, preparing for a fight, but the expected punch doesn’t come ― instead the man just raises an eyebrow at him, smile still in space.

“What’s keepin’ ya out here? Too shy?” The man’s voice is smooth and surprisingly deep. It sends a spark of excitement through Steve’s body, like it wasn’t real until now. It didn’t feel real up until this point, anyway. Steve feels himself blushing, not used to this kind of attention, and says “yeah, kinda,” with a nervous giggle that makes him want to punch himself.

“Well, I can tell ya, you shouldn’t be, a pretty boy like you.” Steve’s sure he’s as red as a tomato and his ears feel just as hot as his face, doesn’t know how to react, so he just hitches his shoulders up, hides his face to disguise his blush, looks up at him through his lashes. It’s dark in the alley but Steve sees a glint sparking in the other man’s eyes, sees him looking at him the way he catches Bucky looking at girls as they pass by.

“So, you wanna go in?” The man moves his head towards the bar’s entrance, with a welcoming smile replacing the wicked one.

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat, trying to get the words out without seeming stupid, “No, no that’s ok.” The guy smiles at him, like he’s a particularly cute puppy and says, all confidence and wicked smiles, "Well then, we could just ― stay here," and winks, and in that moment he looks so much like Bucky trying to charm a girl that it feels like Steve's heart dropped into his stomach.

Steve doesn’t even realize they’re moving until his back hits a brick wall, until the man’s face is so close that he can feel the breath on his face and smell his cologne, until he moves his head to nuzzle at his neck. Steve’s pressed as close to him as he was to Bucky that night, acutely aware of how tiny he is in comparison, has to tilt his head up to breathe, to catch his breath. His inexperience not lending much in the way of control, all he can think about is bucky bucky bucky, and how he’ll never have him. So he leans in.

Steve’s kissing him for god only knows how long before he realizes he doesn’t even know the man’s name, is being pressed up against some dirty wall by some anonymous person. And he doesn’t care, doesn’t care about the bruises he knows the man is sucking into his neck, or how this must look ― just presses in closer and tries to forget. He feels the man slide his hand around his waist, grip tight and possessive in a way Steve didn’t quite think he had the right to be, but feels too good to tell him off. He loses himself in the kiss, in the tongue in his mouth, and hands on his body.

Then the man (he’s really got to learn his name) is being picked off of him, and Steve’s left confused with the cold washing over him. And that’s when he sees Bucky. Sees Bucky punching the guy Steve was just kissing. He’s pretty sure he sees some blood before he comes to his senses and tries to pull them apart, which is not an easy feat. Bucky seems to be blind and deaf with rage. He pushes the guy to the ground and only when Steve starts shouting his name does he stop.

Bucky looks equal parts confused, scared, and angry, and it freaks Steve out a little because the last few days have been confusing as they were and he doesn’t need Bucky to feel this way; doesn’t know how to deal with this.

“Buck. Bucky,” Steve tries and tries again to get through to Bucky, before finally grabbing at his shoulder. “Just stop.”

Bucky is furious. His chest is rising and falling and he’s breathing hard, his hands still curled into fists. Steve has never seen Bucky this angry before, looking absolutely mindless with rage, and then he notices that the guy from before has already vanished into thin air, scared off by Bucky.

“He was kissing you, Steve!”

“I know, Bucky. I was there, in case you hadn't noticed.”

Bucky just gapes at him, mouth open, soundlessly mouthing words that wouldn’t, or maybe couldn’t leave his throat, and Steve feels inexplicably guilty, like somehow this was his fault. But it wasn’t, he didn’t ignore Bucky, he didn’t refuse to look Bucky in the eye, he didn’t refuse to talk about what had happened ― but just thinking about it while staring at Bucky doesn’t change anything, so he sighs and tries to calm down.

“Can we just go home?” Without a word Bucky turns on his heels and leaves. Steve still feels the adrenaline rushing through his veins as they walk through the dimly-lit streets of Brooklyn.

* * *

They reach their apartment quicker than Steve expected, both fueled by excitement and anticipation. They’re inside, and Steve’s locking the bolt on the door before anyone says anything.

“What― what the fuck were you doing?” And really, Bucky stuttering? This situation keeps getting stranger.

“Bucky. Sit. Down.” Steve is confused, and, quite frankly, still more than a little tipsy. He’s actually a little surprised when Bucky listens to him, with how he’s still looking way out of it. Maybe he just doesn’t know what else to do.

“What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all? What was that!?”

“He was kissing you!” Now Bucky is just talking himself into a rage, stressing the kissing like it makes any difference, like Steve wouldn’t know what he’s talking about. Like Steve wasn’t the one being kissed, and doing the kissing. Something cruel rises up in him, and he almost spits out something he doesn’t mean, because Bucky’s just repeating himself over and over and Steve doesn’t know how to deal with it. So he just takes a deep breath and says “Why do you think I even was there in the first place?”

His heart is beating irrationally fast. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just stops and looks at Steve, dumbfounded. “...what?” he asks after a silent moment that seems to go on forever. The silence starts morphing into white noise at some point. Bucky’s eyes are wide, and Steve almost can’t bear to look at him. He keeps up a straight face, though, or tries to anyway, and tries not to feel so tired.

He just puts his hands on his face, tries to hide, though he doesn’t exactly know what he’s trying to hide from. He’s tired, of how Bucky’s been acting, of how he feels, of everything. He tries to calmly breathe in and out, but it comes out shaky. Nothing about this is going to be calm, though, he supposes.

Steve puts down his hands, stands up straight, tries not to shake as he whispers, very quietly; but he knows Bucky will hear because it was quiet enough to hear a needle drop at that moment, “Buck… why do you even care so much about it?”, followed by a harsh, frustrated sigh. He doesn’t open his eyes yet, tries to drown out everything and concentrate on that white noise. Tries to calm down; to open his eyes. At some point, he manages. Warmth washes over him when he sees Bucky’s face, and he gets a little dizzy. Still some alcohol left in his blood, then.

He feels his heart breaking a little. He’s never seen this expression on Bucky’s face, not even in the past few days ― which have been filled with things he’s never experienced before. His heart cracks and shatters when Bucky says, “How could I not?”

Bucky looks like he regrets saying it the moment he finishes talking; looks down at his lap where he removes imaginary dust and picks at his nail beds. It feels like the world's stopped, or at least Steve has, because all he can do is stare at him, at his ruffled hair and reddened knuckles and the blush spreading on his cheeks. All Steve can think is, oh God, I’m in love. He’s standing in a run-down Brooklyn apartment and he’s in love with his best friend, and he isn’t sure how that happened; he’s mortified, and the white noise is getting louder again, but he fights against it, starts setting one foot in front of the other. He forgets how small the room is, though, and comes to a halt in front of his friend way too soon.

Maybe it was too late. Maybe he should have done this sooner. He slowly moves his hand towards Bucky’s, to stop him from picking under his nails. He seems to have retreated into his own head though, because he jumps a little when he realizes how close Steve is. He takes his hand away like he burnt it on a too-hot stove; but he catches the little twitch around Bucky’s mouth.

It feels like walking a tightrope, this whole thing. One wrong move and everything could fall apart. Steve’s always been good in these situations, or so he thought; Bucky always says that Steve’s the smart one, confident and articulate; but right now, as he looks at him, he feels anything but. All he wants is Bucky, to kiss him and hold him, but he’s got to be smart about this, feels like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal.

He puts out his hand, like Bucky’s that tiny little puppy he found when he was younger, skinny enough to see ribs through its matted fur, slow and cautious, and forces himself to look into the deep blue of Bucky’s eyes. His brows are furrowed but there’s a spark of hope on his face, too. Steve makes the corners of his mouth turn up. Slowly, reluctantly, Bucky raises his hand as well, until he reaches Steve’s and doesn’t waver anymore. And it’s like the world has color again, an absence he hasn’t really noticed until now, but made all the more beautiful for it being there again.

He wants to kiss Bucky more than most things he’s ever wanted to do in his life, and Steve Rogers is not one for not getting what he wants.

Slowly, never moving his eyes away from his friend, Steve sits down. He doesn’t know what to do, all he knows is he has to do something, so he leans forward, tilts his head a little bit. Bucky’s eyes are moving frantically, and Steve almost flinches away; but suddenly Bucky’s lips are touching his, chaste and insecure, so Steve closes his eyes, smiles into the kiss and moves closer.

Steve forgets about everything that isn’t Bucky’s lips. He feels his hand sliding up to his waist and reluctantly draws back, because he wants to, needs to, see him. Bucky smiles, but there’s this melancholic, disbelieving twist to it, so Steve leans forward and lightly lets their foreheads touch. He wants to hold Bucky, kiss him and never let go, so he does exactly that; keeps on kissing him while climbing into his lap. Steve holds Bucky’s face, tracing the edges and lines he’s etched into so many pieces of paper, thumbs at sharp cheekbones, and presses into the kiss.

Bucky is so careful, too careful. He wants bruises; evidence of what happened, he wants what the man in the alley gave him, wants to prove that he’s not that fragile, breakable little thing most people seem to take him for. He moves his hips back and forth just a little bit, tries to tease Bucky into doing something, and it works, finally. He puts his hands on Steve’s hips and presses down, tries to move him this way and that; their kisses slowly turn open-mouthed and filthy.

He grabs at Bucky, and can’t help but think of the kiss in the alley, how it pales in comparison. How that kiss with the stranger felt hollow and empty, not at all like how Bucky’s kissing him. Like he’s wanted to do it for a long time now. It makes Steve feel wanted and amazing, warm up from his toes to the tips of his fingers. Bucky pulls back enough to say, “Steve. Stevie,” against his lips before grabbing at Steve’s hips and pulls him into a slow grind that reminds him of all the dances Steve never got.

They’re mostly breathing into one another’s mouth by now, too gone to coordinate kissing. They could get off just like this, grinding together, but Steve wants more, so he uses all the strength he can muster up to make Bucky lie down. He doesn’t know what to do, all he knows is he wants Bucky, and he wants Bucky to want him. All the experience he has is that one time with Bucky, and the alley ― he’s never even kissed anyone before Bucky, but he wants, so badly.

“What do ― you ― what,” he tries to stutter out, before Bucky takes pity on him, and with ease flips them over. Bucky stares down at him, mouth pulled up into that smirk that he’s seen used on everyone but him, but a look in his eyes just for him. His heart nearly stops when Bucky leans down to kiss him at the same time he drags Steve’s leg up around his waist. Doesn’t know what to do, or how to react. Just mindlessly kisses Bucky, tries not to moan too loudly when Bucky kisses down his neck, and bites bruises over the marks already there.

He stares at that damp spot on the ceiling and is distracted for a moment, thinks about all the things that could happen if people found out, if ― he goes tense, but then Bucky’s face is back in his field of vision, and there’s his hand caressing Steve’s face, and he breathes out. He doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to think about anything other than Bucky right now, about how his hand travels from his cheek to his shoulder to his waist, and lower, lower, until it’s between the sheets and Steve’s ass.

He gasps into Bucky’s mouth, feels overwhelmed, and holds on to Bucky hard enough to bruise when he feels Bucky open the buttons on his shirt, stroking the skin of his chest with his fingertips. He lightly slaps Steve’s hips and makes him sit up to pull off his shirt. He’s never been more aware of how he looks; fragile bird bones, paper thin skin and shocking bruises littered all over from earlier in that alley.

Bucky looks at him and Steve sees something he never thought he’d see when people look at him; desire, like Bucky’s waited to see this part of him for too long. His heart feels like someone’s got a fist clenched around it, every time Bucky looks at him like that it squeezes and squeezes, and when Bucky grins at him it feels like a punch in the gut, something he’s infinitely familiar with. Except now Bucky’s here with him, and his smile could light up a room.

He grabs Bucky and kisses him to distract from his red cheeks, but Bucky’s having none of that and just keeps looking. If it’s even possible at this point, Steve blushes harder, far down his chest and he almost squirms to cover up when he sees Bucky looking there, but something in Bucky’s expression sparks confidence and he slowly opens his zipper. His gaze doesn’t waver, but Bucky’s does, it’s like he can’t decide where to look. He wants Bucky to keep on looking, to like what he’s seeing, so he arches his back a little, like he’s seen the dames do it in Bucky’s badly hidden pictures.

He may not have curves or breasts, but that doesn’t seem to bother Bucky, doesn’t stop Bucky from wordlessly gaping at him, and that’s enough encouragement for Steve to work through his embarrassment and to spread his legs slowly. He has to bite his lip to not smile when he sees Bucky visibly swallow, feels powerful and in control in a way he rarely does. He doesn’t really know where to go from here, but he’s good at winging it, figures he knows Bucky well enough to know what he’d like, and he really shouldn’t be so nervous, because this is his best friend, this is Bucky.

And Steve tries to not think too hard about that, because it’s both frightening and calming ― if there’s someone he’d trust with his life it’s Bucky, but actually doing this (whatever this is; right now it’s kissing and making out and maybe more soon, but he’s not sure about what will happen after that) could destroy the most important thing in his life.  

He smells day-old sweat and the ghost of their soap on Bucky’s skin, and when he bends over to kiss Steve’s chest, there’s a trace of dust and smoke and grease in his hair. Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s nipple and Steve grabs at Bucky’s head, thumbing through the dark locks that he’s spent so much time drawing. His whole body feels like it’s ready to explode and he just holds on to Bucky, tries to ease the tension away, tries to give himself completely to him.

Steve gasps up into empty air, stares at the ceiling as Bucky kisses his way down Steve’s chest, arches his back up into him. He loses the grasp of time, and comes back with a shock when he feels Bucky’s fingers, slicked up and cold, gently trail down his tummy. He knows what’s about to happen, but it’s still a shock when Bucky’s finger circles his hole. He ignores the frission of pain that shoots through him when Bucky first slips a finger in, and grinds down on it instead. Spreads his legs that much wider, and arches his back that much more, can’t believe something can feel this good (and if this feels good, he can’t imagine how Bucky’s dick will feel).

Steve lets out an undignified noise when Bucky adds another finger, and isn’t surprised when Bucky puts a hand over his mouth to keep him silent. He lets out a quiet whine that’s caught by Bucky’s hand when he pulls back to slick his fingers up some more to add another finger. Steve vaguely wonders just how much vaseline they’re going to go through doing this, but he easily pushes that thought away when Bucky curves his fingers and hits something that makes Steve jolt.

Bucky pulls his hand back from Steve’s mouth and leans in to kiss him, whispers “Steve. Stevie.” into his mouth while he slicks up his dick, and Steve nearly moans just at that thought of what’s about to happen. It burns more than he expected when Bucky slides in, but he’s used to pain, and underneath the pain there’s pleasure. Steve grabs at Bucky’s back and does his best not to be too loud.

Steve feels himself being shoved up the bed by the force of Bucky’s thrusts, and wants to warn him, tell him off before he starts moving the bed and making too much noise. Instead he holds on tighter and loses himself in the rhythm of the thrusts. He doesn’t realize Bucky’s eyes were closed, until they’re open and looking down on him with a surprising fierceness in them. If Steve thought Bucky was going rough before, it’s got nothing on how he’s moving his hips now, nothing on how hard he’s gripping at Steve’s hips.

Steve bites down on a moan, the eye contact making everything that much more intense, and he doesn’t want to close his eyes, but then Bucky moves a certain way and Steve loses all control he had left over his body. He jolts when he feels Bucky’s lips touch his ear, and moans too loud when Bucky starts speaking, because up until now this was just harsh breathing and the sound of their bodies moving on the bed sheets, and Bucky’s voice breaks through the tension, “I’m never gonna let anyone ever touch you again.”

Steve feels like he got punched in the gut with lust, leaving him as breathless as any other punch would. Bucky doesn’t pause, or stop, just keeps on leaving Steve breathless and wanting, “Do you even know what you’re doin’ to me―” He cuts off whatever it was he was going to say, and presses his lips to Steve’s; both of them too out of it to be anything other than breathing into each other’s mouths. Bucky slides his hands up and down Steve’s chest, before squeezing his hips again, pressing bruises into the pale skin that Steve already knows he’s gonna jerk off to.

All Steve can do is hold on, and try not to moan too loud, because like always Bucky can not shut up, “Never ― never gonna let go of you, no one’s ever gonna touch you again,” pauses to bite a bruise into Steve’s neck, like he can take away what that other man did, cover Steve’s sins with his own. Bucky leans down to whisper mine in Steve’s ear one last time, and Steve is done. He is out for the count, vision going white, possibly going deaf for a second, out. The only reason Steve knows Bucky’s finished is because he can feel the come in him. He stares at Bucky, breathless and panting, and staring just as much as Steve is.

The moment stretches on for seconds, maybe minutes, and they just look at each other, until there’s a tiny twitch on Bucky’s face, and he lights up, laughing with the lines around his eyes getting more visible and a smile that could probably end wars. He leans down to kiss Steve once more, open-mouthed and chaste and messy, and neither of them can stop grinning.

At some point Bucky’s arms give out. He tumbles down onto the bed next to Steve with his hand still covering his chest (not too hard to suffocate but enough to make a point). He can’t ever remember being this happy, this content. Bucky presses a kiss thats more of a smile than anything into Steve’s hair. He’s out of breath, and Bucky’s cheeks are pinker than Steve’s ever seen them before, and he wants to kiss him. Then he remembers he can. So he pecks him on the cheek, on his nose, on the side of his mouth, and keeps kissing Bucky’s lips. They keep their eyes open, like they can’t stand to not look at each other, and Steve knows it’s true, at least for him.

* * *

When Bucky comes home he hears nothing but the faint scratch of pencil on paper, and smiles to himself. Steve probably did nothing but draw today, maybe even forgot to eat ― on days like this where the sun never breaks through the clouds and you rarely see people on the streets who aren’t tucked into their rain coats, holding their umbrella handles close to their chests.

He drops his coat and stifles a yawn ― he spent eleven hours at work and all he really wants to do now is go to sleep.

“Honey, I’m home,” Bucky jokes after a moment spent secretly watching an oblivious Steve from the door of their bedroom. Steve jumps a bit when he raises his head, like he just came out of a trance, and looks around, seemingly surprised by how late it is. He breathes out harshly in relief.

“Don’t scare me like that, you jerk,” Steve laughs and stands up from his desk with a bright smile on his face. It’s actually both of theirs, but Bucky never really has anything to do that he would need it for. Steve gets up on his tiptoes, wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and presses a chaste kiss on his mouth. He drops his arms again with a blush on his cheeks when he gets little response from Bucky, and looks at him from beneath his eyelashes.

“You tired?” he asks, comfortingly putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“A bit, I guess. I feel like an old man, my back hurts,” Bucky says, cracking his neck with a pained expression, and Steve looks into his eyes and smiles smugly. “You want me to do something about that?”

“You are such a little punk, it’s unbelievable,” Bucky mutters and drops his head to kiss Steve’s lips. One small peck turns into two, and it quickly evolves in them heatedly making out against the door frame.

Steve stops when Bucky lets out a pained moan, one that’s not good, and sends a questioning look at him. “My back is fuckin' killing me, I’m sorry, man.” Bucky tries to laugh like it’s nothing, but Steve knows better than that, knows how hard Bucky works (because Steve can’t, because Steve is too fragile, because Steve can’t properly help ―) so he takes his hand and gently pulls him towards their bed.

When the back of Bucky’s knees hit the edge of their bed he sits, and quickly Steve follows, straddling his lap. They smile at one another, and just as Bucky drawls “Hey there ―” Steve presses his cracked lips against Bucky’s once again. He forces Bucky down by his shoulders, except Bucky goes willingly (Steve never has to convince him to do anything, Bucky would probably do anything he asked) and puts his hands on Steve’s thighs.

“Scoot up a bit, Buck,” he demands in between soft, yet challenging, caresses. Bucky crawls up the bed, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, who quickly starts unbuckling Bucky’s belt and undoing his pants buttons ―Bucky bites on his own bottom lip, trying to suppress a sigh, because the sight of Steve doing that will probably never not make him lose his breath.

He can’t stop himself, though, when Steve pulls down his boxers and takes his dick in his hands, all the while looking at him, even when he starts stroking. Bucky drops his head on the pillow, even though he wants nothing more than look at Steve right now, but it feels like he lost all control of his own body, and he tries getting it back, to raise his head, but when he does a biting pain shoots through his spine, and he thrashes his head in frustration ― even more so when he feels a soft wetness on his dick, because fuck, Steve isn’t gonna ―

Except he is, and it feels amazing; Bucky wants to put his hand on Steve’s head, push him down, bury himself in that tight, hot wet, but he won’t, because he’s still not sure where Steve’s boundaries are. So he claws at the sheets, and whines (if anyone asks, he will deny that to his dying day), and moves his hips in tiny thrusts up into Steve’s mouth.

It’s too much pleasure after a day of nothing but aching limbs, Steve sucking him like his life depends on it, trying to take him deeper and deeper, and he can’t think about anything but Steve’s tongue playing with him ― until Steve gets off of him with a pop, and suddenly he’s aware of the way his fingers are cramped, holding the bed sheets tight, aware of where the cool air meets Steve’s spit on his dick.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asks, his voice all throaty, and Bucky moans out “yeah” with some heavy breaths.

Steve moves his hands from where he rested them on the bed and takes Bucky’s hands in his, puts his fingers in between the crevices of Bucky’s.

“Try and relax, okay?” Steve says quietly, with a smile that looks like honey tastes, and drops his head again, teases him with his tongue, and takes Bucky’s dick as far into his throat as he can. Bucky holds Steve’s hands tight, too tight, maybe, but in that moment he can’t really bring himself to care, and he trusts Steve to say something if it hurts. He lets himself go almost completely, letting out a series of quiet moans and sighs, moving his hips in little circles, and all through it he feels Steve grounding him with his hands.

Steve slowly licks along Bucky’s shaft, and somehow that does it for him, the gentleness of it ― Bucky shortly tugs at Steve’s hands, chokes a little on his own breath, but Steve doesn’t falter when Bucky comes. He doesn’t take his mouth off him until Bucky is too sensitive. He raises his head and Bucky hears him swallow, and he lets out a moan, because even when Bucky has already come so hard (so fucking hard, Jesus Christ ―), Steve still manages to tease him.

He crawls up the bed until they are face to face. “You feelin’ a little better, soldier?” And that little fucker smirks because he knows exactly what he’s doing to Bucky.

“A little, yeah,” Bucky replies with a huff, smiling blissfully, and Steve wipes away his hair from his sweaty forehead, kisses him. Bucky can taste his come on his tongue, and suddenly feels very possessive, and proud ― Steve moves from the side of his mouth to his chin, his jaw, his neck, to that small spot right underneath his ear, until Steve covered every square inch he can reach without moving too much. His scent is all around Bucky. He can’t think of anything but Steve’s lips on his skin and his hair tickling the sensitive skin of his cheeks and his weight on his upper body (but not crushing him, because he’s still so tiny) and Bucky loves it.

That night, he falls asleep wrapped around Steve, their fingers tangled and hands pressed to Steve’s chest.

* * *

Steve spends the next few months walking through some kind of blinding daze, nothing seems to bother him anymore; not the cold, or the long days of drawing for next to nothing. All he cares about, all he can think about is Bucky; they way he looks when he’s about to come, the way the light catches in his hair, everything about him.

He catches himself smiling all the time. That lovely old lady from across the hall asked him if he’d met a girl. He thinks about that when he’s drawing, about what she’d say if she knew that it’s not a girl at all, but whenever thoughts like this invade his mind he looks across the room, watches Bucky read or tinker with something he’s brought home from work or doze off while listening to the radio. He’s happy, he’s really really happy, even though they’re still just as poor, and times are just as hard.

It’s one of those days again. Clouds are gathering outside, but the sun still finds some cracks to shine through. It’s going to rain soon, he’s sure. Bucky is standing at the kitchen counter, leaning against it with his back to the wall, sipping at some cold coffee from this morning, and it looks so picturesque, almost too perfect, that Steve can’t help but smile.

“What’re you smiling at tough guy,” Bucky asks with a smirk.

“Your ugly mug.” Steve attempts putting a wicked edge to his answering grin and gets a laugh in return.

“Not too ugly, by how much you seem to draw it.” Steve can’t quite hide his blush, knows he wasn’t doing much to hide his sketchbook, but he’s still a little embarrassed by it. Bucky smiles at him, wide and perfect, and just for him.

“So, you peeked, huh?”

“Well, you know me. I had to.”

Steve grins at Bucky but quickly casts his glance downwards. He quietly asks “What did ’ya think?” all the while fiddling with the edges of his sketchbook.

“They’re… realistic.” Bucky concludes after a moment struggling to find the right word. Steve can't help but laugh at that, because he knows Bucky isn’t stupid, and he knows Bucky recognized himself in the drawings. He continues blushing.

He looks up and catches that look on Bucky’s face before he can turn away, the one in his eyes just like how he looks when he’s about to kiss Steve, promising and demanding all the same. And just like that his breath is taken away. He takes his pencil and opens the book somewhere without looking, doesn’t say anything, just starts drawing.

It’s a messy sketch. Messy and quick but this isn’t about precision, it’s about eternalizing Bucky’s expression with charcoal on paper, and he only needs a few lines for that. He almost forgot about the real Bucky, so fixated on capturing him on paper that when he looks up it feels like coming out of a daze.

Bucky hasn’t moved an inch but his stare has become more intense. It’s a subtle difference but Steve notices it right away, and it feels like someone punched him in the belly. (He’s had some experience with that.) He can’t do anything more than stare at Bucky as he walks closer and closer, paralyzed from arousal or excitement or something. He gasps up into Bucky when lips are pressed against his, his mouth already open and there for the taking. The sketchbook slides out of his hand onto the floor, and the sound of it shocks him out of his stupor.

Steve grabs at Bucky, trying to press closer, pushes into the kiss, and squeaks when Bucky picks him up, annoyed and aroused at being picked up like he weighs nothing; like a dame. Moans at nothing and everything, startles when he’s plopped unceremoniously on their table, the legs creaking precariously. Bucky keeps kissing him, gracelessly and forcefully, puts his hand on Steve's thighs and makes him spread his legs for him to settle into. Both of them gasp when they feel one another's hard-on, and both start trying to press closer and closer, frantically rutting together.

The table is hardly big enough to carry a grown man, but for Steve it's enough. Bucky uses his body to make him lie down, going with him, bending at the waist, his lips never leaving Steve's skin for too long. When he pulls away, Steve wraps his legs around his waist, trying to keep him where he was, not letting him go.  He gets a smirk in return, and then there are hands on his chest, opening the buttons of his shirt, trailing down down down until Bucky's fingers reach his pants.

But instead of just getting on with it, he just stares at Steve with that lewd grin on his face and his eyes practically sparkling with mischief.

“Bucky, if you don't do something soon I swear to Chr―”

As much as he wants to, he can't finish that sentence; his throat closes up and a pang goes through his chest when Bucky starts palming his dick through those two thin layers of cloth.

“What did you wanna say?” Really ― Steve could punch that smug face if he weren't so preoccupied with trying to suppress his moans. He pushes back up against Bucky, chasing after the friction, and how much he wants [needs] Bucky.

He loses time, between the friction and Bucky’s mouth pressed against his. It comes back with a jolt when Bucky finally pulls his pants the rest of the way off, slipping the underwear off with them in one move. He presses kisses against Bucky’s jawline as he feels him fumble around for something to fuck Steve with. For once he’s glad that their apartment isn’t big; Bucky doesn’t leave him alone for long to go get some vaseline.

Steve tries to arch into Bucky when he comes back, needing to be closer to him, and misses Bucky slicking up his fingers and trailing them between Steve’s spread legs. Steve chokes on a moan when Bucky pushes a finger in, and arches his back.

“Jesus, Steve.” If he had two brain cells left to rub together, Steve would probably smack Bucky upside the head for that. Instead he bites down on his lip to muffle the noise he’s making, little shallow breaths and quiet groans.

As Bucky spreads his fingers just that much more, Steve never stops looking at his face, at the determined look and his twitching jaw, tries to ignore the spark of pain, to ease up. It takes too long ― although he doesn’t really know how much time passes. When Bucky gives him one last kiss before taking his dick and sliding in, Steve is already well on his way to coming, but he tries to hold on

Bucky moves his hips quickly, in sharp thrusts that make the table squeak and Steve groan. He holds him by his hips with the half-open shirt tangled in his fingers and its buttons pressing into their skin; moves his hips hard and pulls Steve towards him on every push. Steve can do nothing but hold onto the edge of the table above his head and try to suppress the sounds he desperately wants to make. Suddenly Bucky changes the angle of his thrusts, though, and it becomes more and more difficult ― the sensation is too much, the friction, and a too-loud moan breaks through the muffled sighs and quiet creaks.

There’s a hand covering his mouth. Bucky’s fingers are pressing into the sides of Steve’s face, not quite forcefully but trying to make a point, and Bucky rarely lets himself go like this, rarely stops treating him like a frail bird with a broken wing ― and that’s it for Steve. He tenses up, gasps, puts his hand on Bucky’s, tries to catch the sounds coming from him as he comes. He thinks he doesn’t breathe for a few seconds, but then he relaxes again and forces himself to open his eyes, sees Bucky watching him in awe, and he smiles.

All movement stops and Bucky gasps with his eyes closed, doesn’t move for a moment and Steve can feel him come. Bucky smiles, wicked and sweet. Bends down and kisses Steve sloppily on the side of his mouth, hides his face in the nape of Steve’s neck. Huffs, which tickles and makes Steve giggle like they were just a couple teenagers stealing a kiss ― he grabs Bucky by his neck and pulls him up for a peck on the cheek, and it turns into more, into them kissing with tongue and teeth until Steve makes Bucky pull out and clean up.

* * *

As winter approaches, Steve is starting to have trouble breathing again. Bucky knows he’s trying to hide it, but Bucky knows Steve like nothing else. Knows him like he knows the sky is blue, and water is wet; Steve gets sick during winter.

Steve does his best to hide it, cover up the shortness of breath, and muffle the coughs, but he and Bucky are practically attached at the hip. There’s not much they can hide from each other, and Steve’s health is something Bucky’s been attuned to since they were kids. He can’t be direct about how he wants to help Steve, Steve’s sense of pride won’t let him receive any help, but Bucky’s been doing this for years, he’s practically gotten it down to a science.

Recently, though, there’s something new he can do, new ways he can touch and distract Steve; he can just press him up against a wall carefully and kiss him until he can drag him to bed. He can run his hands through Steve’s hair, and kiss his neck, can even push him up against the edge of the bed and go down on his knees for him.

So Bucky makes Steve lie down on his bed, something possessive in him loving the idea of Steve in his bed, surrounded by him, something he only ever admits to himself. That winter, he falls asleep curled around Steve more often than not.

With Steve unable to leave the apartment, Bucky has to work more, though, to get enough money for medicine and their rent; which means he has to spend less time with Steve ― and that he has to rely on the elderly ladies living in their house to check up on him throughout the day. He spends his days at the docks distracted, worrying about Steve, and the nights tired but unable to sleep, worrying about money.

This happens every year, and every year he has to pretend to not be scared. When he comes home and finds Steve trying to hack up his lungs or not knowing what day it is, when he has to spend his last dimes at the corner store.

He never wants to leave, but every day he does, with a kiss on Steve’s forehead. He works long hours, that feel longer for how much he thinks of Steve. He doesn’t keep track of how many weeks this goes on; it feels like when he does, he just gets more and more anxious for Steve to get better. He tells himself that if he doesn’t know how many days have passed, he won’t lose hope. Sometimes he sits by Steve’s side, to calm him down and help him go to sleep, but it’s also for himself, to calm himself down.

Steve’s been sick before, been sicker than this, when money was tighter and Bucky couldn’t get or couldn’t have a job, but now he has Steve in ways he didn’t before. He didn’t realize how much more losing Steve could scare him, until he had him in every way he wanted. Now he knows that Steve has taken up every spare inch of his life, filled every dusty corner of his mind; how empty it would be if he wasn’t around anymore.

* * *

Steve wakes up snuggled into a blanket that smells like Bucky. This is one of the first days where he can take a breath without starting to cough up a lung ― he buries himself underneath the sheets.

It's painfully quiet, in their apartment as well as outside the window; the silence is almost deafening. For a minute Steve thinks he's still dreaming, but then he becomes aware of the sound of a radio from the kitchen. He gets out of bed with a sigh, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.

Padding into the kitchen, still on unsteady legs, the sounds become more and more comprehensible. With his mind still muddled from sleep he tries to understand but a yawn distracts him from hearing anything. He finds Bucky sitting with his back towards him, the radio before him on their small kitchen table, with his hands buried in his sleep-tussled hair.

Steve sits down next to him and gives him a peck on the cheek, but Bucky startles and just looks at him bewildered. Steve's heart picks up in pace in return, because what ― it's too early for him to be thinking so much, (even though it's already after 2 in the afternoon; the past few weeks have jumbled up his sleep cycle critically) so he decides to just listen to what seems is the source of Bucky's distress.

“...bombing of Pearl Harbor by army planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours…”

They just sit there in silence for a while, not thinking and thinking too much all the same ― the silence only broken by Steve after too many wasted minutes.

“I'm joining up.”

Bucky just stares at him. Steve knows what he must look like, how he must sound, still pale and drawn from being sick for weeks on end, voice still in the illness’ hold; every crack and wheeze making it feel like death’s still just waiting around the corner. But he has to ― needs to ― do this, needs to do something, has wanted to do something since before America was getting in the war, but now he has a chance.

It’s not right to say it’s a good war but it’s a war he’d die for, a war worth dying for. Never mind his asthma and poor eyesight, never mind the way he gets sick each year without fail and nearly dies in his bed. He’s never liked bullies.

Steve is still pale and weak on his knees when he drags Bucky to the recruitment office.

* * *

Hope seems to flow through the cracks of his fingers like water. All that stays is frustration sticking to his skin. He knew all along, in the back of his mind, that he wouldn’t be accepted, bones too frail and lungs too weak for him to be trusted with the country’s future. It stays with him, like sticky skin to leather on a hot day, that no matter what he does, he’ll never be good enough.

Jealousy tears through him when Bucky is accepted as soon as they see him. He has to force himself to be happy, even when all he wants is to be able to help, just once. To carry someone instead of being carried. It feels like anger is coursing throughout his entire body, the body that wasn’t good enough. He grits his teeth, angry at the world, himself, and God, even at Bucky, but he picks himself up off the ground, and tries again. And again, again, and at some point he starts seeing it everywhere, 4F, 4F, 4F…

He doesn’t tell Bucky. He probably knows anyway.

Resentment digs its claws into his skin, and Steve always did bruise easy but this is getting ridiculous. He’s angry, angry at himself, and his body, at the world. He hides it. Frustration grows like a tumor in his belly. He spends his days snapping at any- and everyone, almost bursting with how disappointed he is with his life, with how much he wants to help… until one day Bucky grabs him by the shoulders, sits him down on their bed and looks at him with a vehemence Steve rarely sees.

“Listen, you little punk, I’m going in a day and I don’t want to be stuck in that camp remembering you all sulky and ― whatever it is you’re doing. So...” Bucky takes a deep breath and doesn’t quite look Steve in the eye. “Please?”

Steve wants to pick a fight, to deal with all the restless energy that resting just beneath his skin, but he can’t do that, not to Bucky, not now.

“I’m sorry, I just…” He sighs and slumps his shoulders in defeat. “I wish I could do something, you know?”

“Look at me, Stevie.” Bucky raises his hand and gently puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know it’s not the same as what you want to do, trust me, I know, but ― the world needs more than soldiers, and honestly, you wouldn’t fit in, because you know what? You’re way too stubborn to just follow orders.” Steve can’t help but look downwards to hide his smile, but Bucky picks up on it immediately. Of course.

“Huh, what’s that? A smile?” Steve looks up and sees him grinning, and he thinks, I want to kiss you, and then he remembers, I’m allowed, so he does.

“There’s so much you can do, anybody will want to hire you. You can paint and… you’re the most optimistic person I know, I bet you could think of stuff to cheer us up at the front, or the folks back home. We could all use some cheering up these days. Alright?”

Steve lets out a frustrated huff. He knows he should at least try to be happy and enjoy his last day and night with Bucky, and yet… he doesn’t want him to leave at all, or at least leave with him. But he’s right, Steve can help, even if it’s not exactly what he wants.

“You feel like doing anything tonight? I have some cash saved up.”

“No, let’s just… stay here?” He clenches his jaw around how pathetic he sounds, but Bucky’s face just softens, gets that dumb fond look he gets all the time nowadays. They don’t have sex, just lay next each other, kiss a little, but mostly soak in each other’s presence, the knowledge that they have each other.

Steve falls asleep with trepidation of the unknown clogging his throat, knowing that no matter what he does things are going to change, Bucky is going to change. He wants to dig his fingers into Bucky, hold on so that either Bucky can’t leave or he has to take Steve with him. He doesn’t, he doesn’t do a lot of things.

He wakes up and Bucky isn’t there and he panics, later he’ll blame it on being half asleep, he thinks Bucky left without saying goodbye.

Bucky comes in, even though Steve barely made a sound, looking as panicked as Steve felt.

“Are you okay?!” Steve knows what Bucky must think, that he’s having an attack, it’s why Bucky is so attuned to even the smallest sounds Steve makes.

“Yeah, I. Yeah. I’m fine.” He looks at Bucky, really looks, and can’t help but notice he’s already starting to look different, like he’s standing up a little straighter, that typical loose strut of his already fading. It makes him feel like he’s a thing of the past, but it’s a good look on Bucky, and even as concerned as Bucky looks, he’s got that glint of determination in his eyes that Steve hasn’t seen in a while.

He loves him, he knows that. He’s in love with him. They’ll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Title by Florence + the Machine.


End file.
